


No Use Crying Over Broken Glass

by sheepyshavings



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Pre-Relationship, just being really cute and lovely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4383068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepyshavings/pseuds/sheepyshavings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>She said it was a foolish accident, when Angie talked about it later. She’d been too eager in grabbing Peggy’s hand on the ice rink, missed, and fallen squarely onto her side.</em> </p><p>  <em>After undoing her ice skates and inspecting her arm, Peggy had supported Angie’s almost-entire weight (even though she was perfectly capable of walking) to the street in order to hail a cab.</em> </p><p>  <em>Angie had insisted all was fine when they returned home that evening. That had been two days ago.</em> </p><p>After Angie injures her arm, Peggy has to take over much of the housework and deal with her wounded housemate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Use Crying Over Broken Glass

She said it was a foolish accident, when Angie talked about it later. She’d been too eager in grabbing Peggy’s hand on the ice rink, missed, and fallen squarely onto her side.

After undoing her ice skates and inspecting her arm, Peggy had supported Angie’s almost-entire weight (even though she was perfectly capable of walking) to the street in order to hail a cab.

Angie had insisted all was fine when they returned home that evening. That had been two days ago.

-

“I swear I can at least cut up vegetables. Or stir the pasta. Or cook something else. Peggy, we’re having pasta three days in a row.”

Angie sat at the dining table in the expansive kitchen they’d been privy to for the last few months. Her arm was wrapped in a sling, resting against her chest while her face glowered at Peggy, who stood by the stove.

“We’ve had _two kinds_ of pasta,” Peggy insisted. “With different sides each night.”

She turned the burner down on the pan cooking the sauce, which consisted mostly of tinned tomatoes and salt. It wasn’t her fault she’d never learned how to cook properly. Surely a war had been more important than basic kitchen skills.

“You’re only saying that because all you can cook is pasta,” Angie said, fiddling with a spoon on the table. “Italians do eat other food, you know.”

Peggy sighed, taking a fork and pulling a strand from the roiling water. She blew on it a few times, then bit down on the end to see whether it was done or not.

“You can’t use your arm for at least two weeks. That’s what Dr. Morrison said, and I’ll be damned if I let you muck it up further trying to cook eggplant parmesan."

Angie stuck out her tongue while Peggy’s back was turned.

“It’s my good arm, too,” she mumbled, tugging at the sling. The action sent an acute pain along her forearm and she winced.

“Two weeks is too long,” she said, standing up and going to the cupboard by the stove to get two wine glasses. “If I have to eat pasta for two weeks straight, I’m moving back home.”

Angie ducked as Peggy tossed a wet noodle at her.

-

It was that night that Angie found herself faced with a conundrum. She hadn’t bathed since the accident, and while it was only been two days, the sling smelled of stale sweat and her arm felt clammy against her side. The first night had been spent too wrapped up in rushing to the doctor’s and a frantic Peggy barreling through the waiting room to find a doctor in the next five minutes _“or so help me God.”_ The night before, Angie hadn’t thought much of it at all.

She eyed the tub from the bathroom door. It was large, elaborate with gold-leafed claw feet and a floral curtain strung up with brass hooks above it in the occasion of a shower. Angie moved to turn on the tap, filling the bottom of the tub with water that spit tiny strands of steam into the air.

Careful of her arm, Angie stripped herself as best she could, struggling with her girdle and bra, left arm barely reaching around to the clasps. The sling was the hardest, sharp pain searing through her when she jerked her arm the wrong way. She threw the ball of fabric onto the floor and marched to the bathtub, determined to take a relaxing dip.

Howard had the most exquisite bubble bath soaps. She’d discovered them their first week in the penthouse, shelves and shelves filled with bottles with tiny labels with things like “Moon Bath” or “Twilight Sahara” written on them. Angie’s favorite was “Cherry Pie,” bubbling around her then as she sank into the water. Her arm ached less now that it was suspended in the warmth of the bath.

A bath had definitely been a good idea.

-

Peggy was scrubbing at the bottom of the pasta pan with a ball of steel wool when she heard it.

A thump, shattering glass, and then, “God _damn it!”  
_

Her heart sped up double time as she dropped the pan unceremoniously into the sink. It made an unholy clanging noise, but she was already halfway across the kitchen to the drawer on the opposite side of the room where she kept one of her guns.

Back against the wall of the hallway and gun held with one finger on the trigger, Peggy stepped slowly along the carpet until she reached the bathroom. The door was only half closed, so she darted her gaze into the room beyond.

She let out a deep sigh and clicked the safety of the gun on, dropping it to her side.

“Angie? Are you alright?” she called in through the opening.

A mumble was the only response.

“Can I come in?”

A pause, then, “I guess.”

Peggy pushed through the door all the way, revealing what she had seen earlier through the small opening.

A decanter of Howard’s expensive cocoa butter shampoo was laying in shards next to the bathtub. The shampoo itself was spreading along the cracks in the tiles, a burgundy river cascading over the floor.

Angie craned her neck to look back at Peggy. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears gathering in the corners.

Peggy stood in the doorway, unsure whether to come in more or stay as she was.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Angie said, nodding at the gun at Peggy’s side.

Peggy shrugged, setting the gun down on a table next to the door. “Is everything alright?”

Angie’s lower lip trembled an before Peggy could do or say anything, she burst into tears.

In between hiccups, Peggy made out “open the bottle,” “one hand,” and “slipped.”

Angie sniffed pathetically and wiped a hand across her face, leaving a patch of foam stuck to her forehead.

“I’m sorry, Pegs, I just got so frustrated and my arms hurts every time I move it, and it’s even my _good arm_ , and now I feel like a fool.”

She eyed the mess of the glass on the floor next to the tub, tears threatening again. Peggy moved quickly.

“It’s not your fault, Angie. Well, it technically is, but you can’t help it with your arm, and I’m certain Howard has more of those stashed somewhere.” Peggy bent down next to the tub and began to gather the glass into a small pile, the shampoo sticking between her fingers. The whole air smelled like cocoa butter and cherry pie and it was all beginning to make her feel rather nauseated.

“There,” Peggy said, surveying her work and wiping her hands down on her pants. “Good enough for now. Let me find another bottle of that.”

She paid no mind to Angie, who had one arm hanging over the edge of the tub, puffy eyes darting between the broken glass and Peggy pulling open the vast array of cabinets around them.

“I don’t think it’s gonna matter much if you find another,” Angie said, “seeing as I can’t open it for beans.” She set her face into a pout, her sprained arm now sitting heavily against her stomach.

Peggy turned, a new bottle of the shampoo clutched in her hands like a trophy. Her faced softened when she saw tears welling up in Angie’s eyes again. She waved the bottle above her head.

“Would you like some help washing your hair?”

Angie immediately felt her a heat creep up her cheeks. “Wha- what do you mean?”

Peggy moved to the chair where Angie’s clothes were folded and placed them on the edge of the sink, pulling the chair up next to the bathtub. Angie sunk lower into the bubbles, and hand instinctively moving across her chest, though nothing was visible in the water below her neck.

Peggy saw the movement and took a step back. “I’m sorry if that was forward of me,” she said moving to take the chair back. “I just thought since you can’t do it on your own…” Her own cheeks were flushed now, and she felt very silly indeed.

“Wait,” Angie said, clearing her throat. “I mean, if you don’t mind. It would be a big help.” Her voice trailed off, eyes looking to Peggy for some sort of assurance.

Peggy looked at Angie one more time, as if to make sure that _she_ was sure, before pulling the chair to the head of the tub and sitting down. She set the shampoo at her feet and rolled up her sleeves.

“Do you have any particular way you do this or…?”

“Just put it on my head and rub it in, English.” Angie couldn’t see Peggy, facing away from her and all, but she swear Peggy smiled just from the way the air changed in the room.

“One second, lemme get my hair wet for you.” Angie took in a quick breath and ducked under, the bubbles gathering around her hair and making a pink crown on her head when she came back up. Peggy definitely smiled this time, wiping the foam down back into the tub.

“Do you make a habit of depleting Howard’s bath supplies?” Peggy asked, uncapping the bottle.

“Of course.”

“Serves him right.”

Angie heard the shampoo drip from the bottle, and suddenly Peggy’s hands were in her hair.

It was like a switch turned on and her whole body went slack and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh, that feels really nice,” she murmured, trying her best not to sink below her chin.

“Just keep still so I can get all of your hair. It’s so thick…”

Angie kept her eyes closed, letting Peggy’s fingers ripple through her hair. Her scalp tingled under the touch, a contented sigh coming from her lips. The shampoo turned into a silky lather that glided along her head, filling the air with the smell of cocoa butter. It was wonderful.

“The last time someone washed my hair was when I still fit in our tub at home and my ma would do it for me. I must have been ten or eleven the last time it happened.” Angie began to wonder why she’d ever let people stop washing her hair. Her scalp had always been sensitive, to combing out tangles, to being pinned too tightly, and to hands running along it. It was like her whole body turned to foam, melting into the water. She felt light, and heavy, and peaceful.

Peggy watched from behind, eyes wandering over Angie’s shoulders, small freckles she’d never noticed before adorning them like tiny brown stars. Her hands were beginning to get pruny, wrinkles pressing into her fingertips. The shampoo had clearly served its purpose, every inch of Angie’s impossibly thick, lovely hair covered in suds.

Peggy’s fingers caught on a tangle and Angie yelped, eyes startling open.

“Sorry!” Peggy loosened her grip from the snag, smoothing it down and continuing to rub the lather in.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Angie said, relaxing again. The room filled with a comfortable silence, then,

“Sorry I’ve been a wet blanket these last couple of days.”  
  
Angie heard Peggy laugh behind her. “You have been a bit of a tit, you know.”

Now Angie laughed, stopping when some of the scented water got into her mouth. She spat it out, joining Peggy’s laugh as soon as she stopped coughing. The laughter trailed off, and Angie turned back to the chair as best she could.

“You’ve been so nice to me, and so helpful around the house. Even if you can only cook pasta.”

Peggy gently whacked her on the head, but she continued.

“And I’ve just been a whiny mess, haven’t I?”

“You have been. But apology accepted, Miss Martinelli. Now, up. I have to rinse you off.”

Angie did as she was told, scooting backward so she could lean over without exposing herself. The bubbles were dissipating in the water, leaving more and more open spaces to look down into the bathtub.

“I’m not going to peep at you in the water,” Peggy said, reaching up for the showerhead and flipping the switch to turn it on. “I’m not _Howard.”_

She aimed the showerhead away from Angie, tested the water with her fingers before moving the spray to cascade down Angie’s hair.  
  
“Let me know if the temperature is alright.”

Angie lifted her good arm to pull her hair back into the stream.

“It’s perfect.”

Angie watched as the suds dripped down her back and into the tub, clouding the surface water around her once again. She blew on a patch of bubbles, watching them float across the tub.

“You’re done.” Peggy’s voice drifted now, soft against the fuzz in Angie’s head. She felt totally wrung out, ready to sleep for days.

Angie’s head was dipped down, knees curled up against her chest. It struck Peggy how dark Angie’s hair was when it was wet. Usually a honey-gold, it was now a dark brown, strands stuck in odd patterns along her back. Peggy reached out to pull some away from her skin.

“Angie?” Peggy tried again.

Angie blinked.

“Hm?” She turned around and stared at Peggy with eyes glazed over.

Peggy felt a warmth blooming in her chest.

“You’re all done. Hair’s clean.”

“Oh.” Angie let her knees fall back down, the water rippling dangerously against the edge of the tub.

“I guess I’m done, then,” she said, ringing out a handful of hair.

“Hm.” Peggy sat for another few seconds, pursing her lips, before getting up.

“Alright then, I’ll just leave you to rinse off.”

She smoothed down where her trousers had bunched up from crouching over the tub. “I’ll see you in a bit, then?” She lifted the chair up to move it back.

“Wait, Peggy?” Angie said, stopping Peggy’s movements.

“Yes?”

“Could I maybe as a big favor? I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, you can go make your tea or whatever. I guess you’ve already helped a gal out enough, but-“

“Yes, what is it?” Peggy asked, cutting her off. She set the chair back down, awaiting the question.

“Would you, uh, mind doing the conditioner, too?”

Peggy let out a small laugh, already moving to the cabinets to pick out a scent. Almost immediately her eyes fell upon the matching cocoa butter conditioner. She turned back to Angie, holding up the bottle.

“Of course, Angie. Anything for my incapacitated housemate.”

Angie grinned and waited for Peggy to come back to the tub.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired mostly by a certain prompt found [here](http://delightfullyambiguous.tumblr.com/post/124412429263/one-of-the-harder-plots-i-do-so-enjoy-is)
> 
> Not beta'd at all, all mistakes are mine. Please point out if you see any errors! I will fix them asap. :) Thanks for reading!


End file.
